


So we're going to mess with them?

by Lyssie (Tigerlizzy)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Death, Depression, Discovery, Exploration, Friendship, Gods, Hope, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Strained Relationships, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-10 13:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigerlizzy/pseuds/Lyssie
Summary: Toki and Skwisgaar have been getting under everyone's skin as of late with their constant bickering and arguments. Pickles decided enough is enough. Perhaps they need a little shaking up to set the them straight.





	1. Unspoken territory

“Hey, Pickles.. what are you doing?” A deep, wary voice spoke from the entryway of the lounge, the low lighting along the walls casting elongated shadows around every corner. Green eyes were locked on a silver laptop settled against a pair of knees, the Irish man's usual drunk stupor more tamed than it had any right to be on a lazy night. The pale illumination of the monitor washed out his already pallid skin, giving the red head an almost ghostly appearance. A quick glance up followed by a crooked grin nearly made the front man's skin crawl. That would make a great album cover. If he could get the others to work with the idea, that could be-

“Heh, heya, Nate. I'm just doin' a lit'le research.. wish I drank a few bottles first before doin' this, though.” The drummer's quiet response broke through his train of thought, his evident Midwestern accent seeming to take on a more subtle tone to match the night's mood. A deep grunt was all the response he could verbally muster at such a bizarre statement, a small raise of one dark brow punctuating his tone.

“C'mon, c'mon, I'll make ya suffer with me.” He enticed, his smile dominating his features once more as he waved him over.

Nathan remained rooted where he stood, a frown nearly carved into his face as he pondered different scenarios as to what the drummer was up to. It wasn't often Pickles made much trouble of himself, alcohol and drug addiction aside. Along with the occasional fist fight. That was a walk in the park compared to most of the shit that went down in Mordhaus on a nearly daily basis. With that in mind, his curiosity on the matter won him over and he shuffled towards the viking-esque, metal framed couch, plopping beside Pickles with the ease and grace of a boulder.

Peering over his shoulder, Nathan's mind quickly fell blank as his eyes were attacked by blocks of text. A second passed before his mind fully registered what it was he was looking at, and he leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed. “Uh.. so you're reading?” He grumbled slowly, his earlier skepticism quickly diminishing. That was until Pickles slowly shook his head, his eyes tightened slightly around the edges. A muted click of a mouse-pad brought them back to a search page lined with dozens of story titles. Nothing in particular stood out among the sea of writing, and for a moment he wondered if Pickles was pulling his leg until the connection hit him like a train. Every synopsis had Toki and Skwisgaar in it. Now that he focused his attention, he saw that their names were plastered everywhere, occasionally littered with the names of the remaining band members.  
Wide eyes whipped back to Pickles and he finally noted that he did look a little green. “Oh God.. Oh God! Pickles what the hell?!” Nathan cried out before a hand slapped firmly over his mouth.

“Shut it! Don' wake tha whole house up!” Pickles griped before he promptly drew his hand away.

“We're all deaf anyways, what does it matter?” Nathan shot back lowly before he threw his hand towards the computer monitor. “What the hell is this? You know this shit is taboo, and it is definitely not metal.” He emphasized his last two words curtly and Pickles rolled his eyes.

“Yeh, yeh, tha unspoken 'don' read what tha fans write' rule.” He waved off his friend's dumbfounded look with a shake of his head. “I have a reason for this. Far as I know, we're tha only two who knows 'bout this creepy bullshit, right? Why not have some fun with it? Toki and Skiwsgaar seem ta be tha most popular.. uh.. pairing?” He uttered with such a cringe it would have made anyone wonder if he had been physically punched in the gut. “Can't do this ta Murderface 'cause he'd probably like that weird crap. Creepy pre-teen girls writing about him, oh God..”

"Wait, how did you get this far? You didn't even know the internet existed a few months ago." He asked suddenly, brushing off the horrific image that threatened to surface from the drummer's statement and instead focused on the fact that he was on a laptop to begin with. Pickles shrugged and leaned back against the plush, blood red cushions. 

"Got one of the Hoods to set me up. Don' worry, they don' know what I'm up to." He responded easily enough, a small laugh pushing past his lips.

“Okay, so, uh.. we're gonna mess with them?” Nathan asked after a brief pause, his mute green eyes lighting up at the prospect. Toki and Skwisgaar always got under everyone's skin with their constant bickering and fighting, and this could be the perfect form of payback on the Scandinavians. A disgusting, chain-reaction-puke-a-thon inducing form of revenge.

“Yeh!”

“We're gonna need a lot of alcohol to do this, then. Why would you do this shit to yourself sober?” He mused incredulously as he moved to get up and head to the kitchen.

“'Cause if we're gonna do this, we gotta do it right.” Pickles words were enough to stop the hulking lead singer in his tracks and glance over his shoulder with a raised brow. Taking his cue to elaborate, he leaned forward and spoke under his breath conspiratorially, “We have ta, ya know, hook em' in. Make them think it's some cool thing we found that happens ta mention them. They'll get pulled in, feel all safe when nothin' weird happens, then bam!” He threw his hands up with a sharp stomp of his foot on the ground, “Walked right into their doom.” An expression of pride crossed his face as Nathan turned to face him again in silence, mouth slightly agape. This could work. Damn. This could actually be downright brutal.

“So yeh, can't necessarly do this piss drunk, 'cause then I'd just find tha most disgusting story out there and send it to em, and they'd never read it! It'd be too obvious.” A devious smile crept across the front man's lips before he broke down into low chuckles. “So are ya still in?” Pickles asked quietly, waggling his pierced brows and earning another rumbling laugh.

“Hell yeah! Have you found anything yet?” He pressed as he settled back in place on the long couch.

“Ehh, I have a few in mind. Most stories are too long, ya know? Like chapters and chapters of tha stuff. It's insane.” He muttered more towards himself before he added a couple choice words under his breath. “But others are too short or poorly written.” He continued with a small frown. Stealing another glance at the fan database, Nathan took note of the search results in numbers alone. There were thousands of these things. His stomach flipped and knotted painfully in the core of his body, and he found himself leaning over his knees.

“I think I'm gonna be sick..” He muttered as he tightly pressed his lips together.

“Here,” A small, metal trash bin slid across the rock flooring, and a pungent smell slowly drifted up to his nostrils. “It's disgusting, but it helps.”


	2. Dark Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This chapter is going to be a little different since it's diverting from rather different perspectives, so I've separated them by use of italics. I'm sorry if it makes this chapter rather arduous to read, but this formatting isn't likely to come up again!

Pale, winter blue eyes cracked open against the weak streams of light that filtered through the curtains of the small bedroom. Long, chestnut hair spilled over the young Norwegian's face in a tangled mess, eyes squinting against the full moon's unwelcome rays. Before he could even entertain the thought of allowing them to adjust, he shoved his face back into the bunched up blanket under his arm with a low groan. Despite the moon hanging lazily above the horizon, it still felt too early.

A moment of silence passed and Toki quickly neared the brink of unconsciousness before the shrill wail of his phone jolted him back into the clutches of wakefulness. Rolling over, he fumbled and grasped for the culprit of the ear splitting noise. He hardly noticed when he jabbed his palm on one of the many spikes that poked out haphazardly on the device and nearly knocked the lamp over in the process of pulling it towards him.

The light of the screen read plainly, '1 New Message From Charles Offdenson.' "Hva..? Det er altfor tidlig..” He muttered in his native tongue as he quickly swiped the notice off screen and opened the brief message.

'Band meeting at 11:00 am tomorrow morning. We need to discuss your public appearance at the Emmys. Please try to be on time. - C.F.O'. Great, another meeting. Toki almost wondered why Charles still bothered to try. The last meeting he held, Pickles was high out of his mind and thought playing with a box of matches he got from a strip club was a good idea. Suffice to say, he lost a few inches of his hair that night.

Just before he tossed his phone away, however, another message caught his eye. Speak of the devil.. Running a hand over his face, he turned onto his side and looked at the time stamp blearily. Sent at 9:21 p.m? Better not be one of his conspiracy theories on the band. He opened the message with a small breath.

'Heyaaa Toki! I was lookin' at some stuff online, and someone wrote somethin' really cool about ya!' He read the sentence twice over and blinked once. Someone wrote something cool about old Toki? 'Here's the link..thingy. Night!' The message finished off clumsily. Attached to the bottom was a link. Furrowing his brows, he tapped the hyperlink and lied back as a title popped up on his screen.

_'I fall like a burning star.'_ No other information was available as far as he could see, so he scrolled down with a bare shrug before he paused and sat up. It was a story. Someone wrote a story about him? His eyes quickly ran across the screen and he realized that it had mention of everyone. It was set within their own home.

His chest tightened in nervous glee, and his heart did somersaults against his ribs as a childish smile lit his expression. He didn't even know the writer, Dark Skies, yet this felt like the greatest gift he had ever received since joining Dethklok. No one ever cared enough to pay attention to him or who he was, let alone make him the focus of a story. He would have to find the creator and thank them. Maybe they could even be friends.

A tingle of happiness danced across his fingertips at the thought, and his cheeks began to ache from his idiotic smile. Pushing himself up into a cross legged position, Toki drank in all that was written for the world to see. It started normal enough. They were spending an afternoon in the studio working on the second Dethalbum. That felt like ages ago, he thought as he continued to read the near spot on dialogue.

_”Toki, cans you tries soundings less likes a dildo? I think you ams makings mine ears bleeds.” Skwisgaar remarked almost passively, his eyes focused on the frets of the epiphone that sat in his lap._

_”Agh.. Toki, play it again from the top.” Nathan grumbled, the pads of his fingers pressing into his temples._

_“But I already does it three times now!” Toki exclaimed indignantly, knuckles whitening with the near stranglehold he had on the neck of his flying-V._

_“Jus' one more time, Toki.” Pickles pushed, arms crossed over his chest tiredly._

Toki sat back a little at this, his grasp on his phone tightening until multiple pricks made him loosen it again. This was nothing but a normal day, yet it still hit too close to home. Being told to record his parts over and over and over again. No one else needed to make so many attempts to record a single song, not unless they were piss drunk. Not to mention a whole fucking album. It was always Skwisgaar that had a problem with his playing, too. Not fast enough, too sloppy, unable to keep the rhythm going, too out of tune. Too loud, too quiet, not metal enough- It never fucken ends with him! A dull throb in his lower jaw told him to unclench his teeth and subsequently loosen his rigid posture. A deep expel of breath followed, and he turned back to the small screen. Someone wrote a story about him. It must get better.

_Running his fingers back up the frets, Toki bowed his head with a deep frown. Rolling his shoulders back, his mind locked onto the song until he swore he could see the melody floating around him. The moment Nathan cued him in, he took off. A rush of power flowed through his fingers as they nimbly raced across the strings, striking chords and riffs in perfect synchronization. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and forehead, but he paid no mind as he lost himself in the raw feeling that overwhelmed him. The song nearly ended when the music cut short, and it took a long moment to process what had happened._

_By the time he drew himself back to reality, Skwisgaar, Pickles, and Nathan had already launched into an argument. “He ams playing too slowly!” Skwisgaar bit out as he threw his hands in the air._

_“So what if ya think he's playin' a little too slow? It sounded awesome, dude! Why'dya have to stop, he was so close!”_

_“It ams going to throws off the whole songs and we wills has to records agains! We dont's has times for thats!”_

_“Okay you guys, okay. Skwisgaar, you need to shut up and let Toki play.” Nathan said firmly, fixing a cool stare at the lead guitarist who merely rolled his eyes in response. Turning back to the recording booth, the front man glanced away before pressing, “Toki-”_

_“No.” The entirety of the room paused at this. But Toki couldn't bring himself to care less as he slipped his guitar over his head and pushed the door open. “Let Skwisgaar does it. I'm dones.” He said evenly, every word cutting like frostbite as he marched out of the room._

“Ja, serves them right! De drittsekk!” Toki cheered, slapping his hand against the messy covers of his bed before mentally high-fiving his fictional self. Maybe now they'll actually be sorry. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of them apologizing. Better yet, make Skwisgaar apologize for once in his life. Have him be the one groveling on his knees. That thought alone left Toki's blood buzzing, and he sank back under his blankets in anticipation.

_A couple hours had come to pass and Toki found himself to be considerably calmer as he glued a wing onto a model F-16CJ Fighting Falcon. The incident currently left nothing more than a bad taste in his mouth, but immersing himself in his crafts bode well to keep any negative feelings at bay. That was until a short rap sounded at the door, causing any feelings of relative peace to suddenly flee._

_Nothing was said as he glanced towards the door and turned back to his work, letting whoever was there to figure out what to do for themselves. The wing was finally held securely in place and he placed a rubber clamp over it to allow it time to set before a distinct, thick accent announced his presence and slowly pushed the door open. A long silence settled over the room once the initial creak died away, but no footsteps approached._

_Toki thought over his options carefully before he grimaced and turned back in his seat with a long sigh. “Whats does you want, Skwisgaar?” The blonde remained silent as he stood rooted near the threshold, his eyes unable to meet the younger man's. Scoffing quietly, Toki turned back with a wave of his hand. “If you's not goings to say nothings, then just goes.”_

_“No, I.. Uh..” Skwisgaar pressed his lips together and groaned internally before he slowly approached the Norwegian's currently cluttered work space. “Look, Tokis, I ams sorries.” Toki grew still and gazed down at the grain of his wooden desk. Well that was new. “You amns't all that bads.. You actuallies dids goods.” He could imagine the amount of pain he must be in to spit those words out to him._

_“Admits I am a goods guitarists and I will forgives you.” He stated bluntly as he rose to his feet and turned back to meet the man's wide, blue eyes._

_“Comes on Tokis, this amns't-”_

_“Admits I am a goods guitarists and I will forgives you.” He said more slowly, the set of his eyes conveying this wasn't a request. It was a demand. A muscle worked in the Swede's lower jaw, his hands grasping at what he could only wish to be his guitar._

_“You amns't bads..”_

_“Say it.” Toki bit out as he stepped closer, now nearly toe-to-toe with the towering figure._

_“Tokis, does you really needs to-” His breath choked off as he was whirled around and slammed into the top of the desk, sending modeling glue and crafting utensils flying to the ground._

_“Say it!” He growled sharply, teeth bared as he fisted the collar of his black shirt and brought him close. Flush dyed Skwisgaar's face an ugly red, and he gaped for a few long seconds before uttering,_

_“You ams a goods guitarists.” That was it. The words he craved to hear for so many years. His hand unwound from his shirt, but Skwisgaar didn't move. His eyes remained on his face, a gesture he couldn't remember him last doing. His heart fumbled at the intensity of his stare, and he nearly forgot how to breathe when he was suddenly drawn closer and a full pair of lips crashed against his. The initial shock nearly made him push the man away, but instead of pulling back, he leaned into it._

Toki froze, his mouth gaping. What.. What in the world just happened? He quickly read through the scene again, but his eyes did not deceive him. He risked continuing another sentence or two further before his fears were solidly confirmed and he whipped his phone across the room like it was a flesh eating virus. A deep heat bloomed across his face and neck, and a strange combination of mortification, humiliation, and betrayal prickled at his eyes.

“Hva i helvete!?” He cried out as the realities of what he had been subjected to finally sank in. Pickles set him up. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't any of of the others? Give them the perfect excuse to make fun of him and call him gay for the next year. Toki was barely aware of his actions as he pulled on a pair of jeans and his navy blue t-shirt, a red mist clouding all thoughts as he threw his door open. The term 'fuming' never made sense to the young man until this moment, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of that. He was almost halfway down the stone staircase when a sudden shout filled the upper corridor followed by an unmistakable,

“Whats the fuck?!”

Shit.


	3. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm terribly sorry for the horrifically long hiatus. (A year? Am I insane?? The answer is, simply; yes.) I've been struggling greatly trying to write, as the process takes far longer than it ought to. But that doesn't mean the story, particularly, this chapter, hasn't been haunting me left and right, begging for me to continue it. 
> 
> On top on the inability to write, I was battling a terrible writers block regarding Toki's character. He is by no means concrete in structure, via his personality and his actions/reactions to events around him. He is absolutely unpredictable, and that was what made him so painstakingly difficult to write for. But eventually I've come to my own conclusion regarding his character, and I took the idea and slowly ran (Basically walked) with it. -I've written this chapter 4 separate times, each one completely different from the last, aughhh-  
> Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I hope to continue adding to this story in due time! (Working and attending school full time is killing me, weee!)

Toki's body reacted before his mind could process the situation at hand, his feet pounding down the stone steps two at a time. The moment he reached ground floor he quickly strode down the darkened corridor. Mordhaus was eerily quiet at this time of night, although compared to his rampant thoughts and Skwisgaar's outcry reverberating in his skull, a plane could have crashed and he wouldn't have noticed. 

 

Skirting around a corner, he was suddenly met face to face with a pair of electric green eyes and narrowly avoided tackling the stocky figure to the ground. 

 

“Holy shit-” A nasally voice cried out as he jerked out of the way, “Toki, watch where you're going!” A pair of broad hands brushed down a wrinkled, grey leather vest with an indignant huff. 

 

“Ja, sorries, Murdersface.” Toki muttered, eyes averted before he pressed, “Has you seens Pickle?” 

 

“Geez, jusht going about my buschness, a perfectly good night if you ask me, and I nearly gecht tackled by this lunatic..” He grumbled under his breath before he lifted his eyes to Toki's face and fell silent. The rhythm guitarist nearly towered over him, his frame trembling faintly as he stared him down. It was like watching heatwaves on a hot day, hardly noticeable if no one thought to look too close. However, the source of said heat seemed to be centered on the young man's face, a seething flush tinting his fair skin. His jaw was set set, pupils narrowed like darts. 

 

Murderface felt is chest constrict slightly as his mind registered that particular look, yet his expression managed to remain neutral as he spluttered, “O-Oh Pickles? Yeah, yeah, he'sh aschleep in his room! Hasn't moved from his shpot all evening, no shir-ee..” No way in hell he was going to be his next victim. Not after the poor sucker at the Snakes n' Barrels concert. He could still hear the bones in the man's face crack at the sheer force of the Norwegian's fury. 

 

His heart nearly leaped in self-gratitude as Toki nodded and strode past him with a brief thanks. Least his beef wasn't with him this time. Better Pickles than himself, he thought as he slowly walked in the opposite direction of the rage induced man. Looks like they'll need a new drummer. 

 

______________________________

Determination solidifying his resolve, Toki quickened his pace through the hall, making one swift turn after another until he reached an unassuming wooden door. A dull throb of heat coursed through his veins, causing his vision to blur slightly before he roughly shook his head. 

 

Shoulders set, Toki quickly turned the knob and pushed the door open, listening minutely as it bounced off the back wall with a low thud. But no sooner had the door opened, Toki's face immediately screwed up and he faltered a step back as a wave of pungent smells assaulted him from nearly every direction. Stale alcohol mingled with vomit, curdled food, and dirty laundry that he could only describe as creatures from the underworld, thrived within the environment the drummer made for himself. In the midst of such chaos lied Pickles, sprawled out haphazardly on his stained mattress. His sheets were bunched up and pushed off to the side, and half his body dangled off the edge of the bed. 

 

Had it been another day, another time, Toki would have wondered how the man could possibly live as he did. But today was not one of those days. With a small breath beyond the door, Toki marched up to the sleeping figure and grasped a handful of his red dreadlocks, fisting it tightly before he jerked his head back. He was immediately rewarded with a garbled cry, the sound dancing off his skin like electricity. A right hook immediately retaliated against his attack, but Toki easily leaned around it before he roughly shoved Pickles onto his back. 

The Irish man's startled expression quickly flickered between bafflement and irritation before it settled on the latter, green irises flaring. “What the hell, Toki?! Ya can't just go assaulting people in their sleep like that!” He snapped irately, pushing himself up onto his elbows with a rough breath. God, why did weird shit always have to happen at the most inconvenient of times? The back of his head ached where his hair had been pulled, and he resisted the urge to rub his injury. If he ended up losing more of his hair because of this, so help him.. 

 

Lost in his inner tirade, he hadn't noticed when Toki had leaned closer to him, his expression cold. Silence filled the room to an almost deafening degree, and it wasn't until Pickles looked up did he finally fall quiet within himself. Pierced brows furrowing, a coolness rushed over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he contemplated the young man's fury. “Hey.. look, Toki, if yer mad about somethin, ya gotta just spit it out, you know? I can't read yer mind..” He spoke slowly, his mind quickly going through a checklist of reasons why the little weirdo was pissed off this time. Switching out his wardrobe with mini dresses, tucking in his bed sheets so he would be unable to crawl underneath, attempting to sacrifice DeddyBear to the overlords in exchange for an unlimited supply of 3D doritos.. hell, an argument with Skwisgaar would usually do the trick. 

 

Pickles straightened some at this, the evenings events flooding back to the front of his mind like a repressed memory. God, and with good reason, too. Nathan nearly filled two buckets with his stomach contents, and it was enough to make the drummer almost grateful he decided not to drink after all. Such a thought was so foreign to him that he immediately left and came back with a bottle of scotch. Gotta bite those thoughts in the nub before it turned into some kind of “healthy habit”, as everyone called it.

 

“Oh.. I see what's going on now.” He mused quietly, his stern look turning into a small, cheeky smile. “Did ya like yer present?” The moment those words fell off his lips, Toki's fist slammed into the headboard, narrowly missing the redhead. 

 

“How coulds you does this to me, Pickle?!” Toki's voice cracked like a whip fleshed out of ice. “For once, for _once_ , you mades it seems like someone gave a rats abouts me! You mades it looks like someones really careds about mes, but it was nothings but lies!” Pickles quickly leaned back from the force of his words, his mouth barely able to open to counter argue before he drilled on, 

 

“Does you know what it's like to consitantedly be made the butts end of jokes, to always be forgotten, invisible to the fuckens world? Does you has any ideas how awful it is to be what everyone's verbal punchings bag, ands to be treats like dirt?” Toki threw his hands in the air, his cutting pace never slowing. “I's a humans too, Pickle! I deserves tos be noticed ands treateds like everyone else! Buts noes, I have to be the cutesy guy who deals with everyone elses problems, and I's tireds of it! I's tireds of beings looking down on, I's tireds of being belitstled ands made fun of, and especially being seen below _him_!” He bit off the last word with such venom, it made the drummer's heart seize inside his chest. 

 

“I ams good guitarist, dammit, and I's just as good as Skiwsgaar! But to be gays for the man what ams the defkintions of a fucking whore ams just insultings. I don'ts needs that!” He gritted out sharply, breath shaky as he straightened up and fumed. Pickles hadn't realized his jaw had fallen open until he snapped it shut with an audible click. Yet he remained at a loss for any proper thoughts or words to say. Sure the band liked to pick on the kid, but they never meant to be outright malicious in their intent. Toki wasn't the only one who was messed around with, either, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't the easiest target out of the five of them. 

 

Usually he took their shenanigans in stride, or at least kept his anger contained, but to see him not only go off but also stand up for himself, left the drummer utterly speechless. The rawness of his words had nearly seared into his skin, and he slowly turned away from the intensity of his solemn blue eyes. 

 

“Ahw, Toki.. I'm sahrry, really. We never mean ta hurt ya or make ya feel as bad as ya do.” He said quietly as he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. “We do it 'cause we like ya, but I know that we can be real assholes, too.” By this point, Toki's eyes focused on an unseen object in the background, his stiff frame breaking up slightly. “I didn' mean anythin' by that dumb story. I jus thought it'd be funny, ya know? But tha' was just me bein a stupid jerk like usual.” A long moment ticked by, then another, before Toki let out a slow sigh, his shoulders slumping with the action. His eyes were distant, and his mouth never shifted from its perpetual frown as he turned back for the door with a faint nod. 

 

“Ja.. Okay, Pickle.” He mumbled quietly. The sound of springs creaking and footfalls started up behind him before they quickly fell short. 

 

“Ya sure yer okay, dude? We can go do somethin, if ya want.” His offer hung in the air for only a moment before the Toki shook his head. 

 

“Noes, I just wants to be alones for a whiles.” Without another word, Toki left quietly, shouldering past a figure lingering in the doorway. Skwisgaar allowed himself to be pushed aside, his eyes not following after the young man as he stared at the ground in his wake.


End file.
